Virus?
by grintica
Summary: Kurt falls ill with a stomach bug that's been going around-but soon begins to wonder if it could be more serious than he thinks. Because though Kurt rarely gets sick, when he does, he *really* does.
1. Chapter 1

Kurt straightened up in his chair and shifted his focus back to whatever Mr. Schuester was talking about, but to no avail—no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't concentrate. He was preoccupied by a dull ache in his stomach—barely even severe enough to be considered "pain," it was more of a general discomfort, and he didn't like it.

He fidgeted again, trying to stifle a wince. He found himself having a hard time keeping up with the dance moves and hitting the high notes, and by the time he left and headed for home, he wondered if there was actually something wrong with him.

At home, he went straight to his room and changed out of his favourite red jeans and into pajama bottoms. He sprawled on his bed to work on some homework, but his stomach continued to ache and his eyelids quickly grew heavy.

"Dinner, Kurt!" came Carole's voice, muffled through the door, but still enough to jolt Kurt out of his uncomfortable half-asleep state. He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and headed into the kitchen. The short walk could have been Everest, for all Kurt cared—he felt so crappy he could have slept all through the night and well into tomorrow.

He didn't eat much that night, shrugging it off when his stepmother noticed the way Kurt pushed bites of food around on his plate and asked if he was okay. "Just not too hungry," he murmured, standing up to dump his plate.

Carole stood when Kurt did and rounded the table to place a hand on his forehead. "You don't feel feverish or anything, sweetie," she remarked. "But why don't you go lie down, and Finn can help me with the dishes tonight."

"Thanks," Kurt replied, glancing apologetically at his stepbrother, who had suddenly gotten stuck doing Kurt's chore for the night.

As Kurt crawled into bed once more, he drew his knees up to his chest; the dull stomach pain had intensified and brought with it a dose of nausea. The few bites of dinner that Kurt had managed to eat weren't sitting well with him.

_Well,_ he thought, _Mike and Santana have both been out with some sort of bug recently—something's going around, and I got lucky I guess._

It wasn't long before his eyes drooped slowly shut again, before he even had a chance to remember his moisturizing routine.

Sometime early in the morning, Kurt was rudely awoken by a shooting pain through his stomach, as well as the sensation of something rising in his throat. He leaped out of bed, fighting the dizziness that swamped him at the sudden movement, and dashed for the bathroom.

He didn't want to throw up. He couldn't let himself do it. He gripped the counter with white knuckles, fighting the urge with everything in him. He took a deep, shaky breath, and watched with disgust as a beat of sweat rolled down his temple.

He knew—or at least, desperately hoped—that if he'd just puke and get it over with, he'd feel better. But puking was, to Kurt, a fate worse than death. He spat out a mouthful of excess saliva and fought a gag.

Soon, though, he couldn't hold back any longer. He gagged once, twice, eyes watering from the force of it, and on the third time everything happened at once. Kurt lurched forward violently, hitting his head on the faucet as his meager dinner made its reappearance, followed by what felt like everything else he'd eaten since grade school.

When the heaving subsided and Kurt could catch his breath, he straightened up with a wince and looked himself square in the eye. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes bloodshot. Tears rolled down his cheeks from the unpleasantness of vomiting combined with the steady pain that still sat in the pit of his stomach like a heavy, cold stone.

Kurt rinsed the evidence of his sickness out of the sink, hastily brushed his teeth, and crawled pathetically back into bed, wondering how long he'd have before he'd be back in the bathroom again. He rarely got sick, but when he did—he _really_ did.

**- to be continued -**


	2. Chapter 2

It was at least an hour or two before Kurt was jolted awake by another bout of nausea. He glanced at his clock; it was nearly time to be waking up by now anyway, so he rolled out of bed and stiffly got to his feet, trying to figure out whether he was going to vomit_ rightnow _or whether he had time to wake up a little bit first.

Pain lanced through his abdomen and his heart leaped into his throat, and it was then that he knew he'd better get to the bathroom fast. He barely had time to throw the toilet lid open before his stomach was revolting again, and this time is was much more painful because it barely had anything to expel.

He could faintly hear his alarm clock going off in the bedroom, but he couldn't leave the toilet long enough to go turn it off, so he let it continue to beep annoyingly. When he finally stopped heaving for a moment, he sat back against the wall and took a shaky breath, steeling himself against the dizzying pain in his abdomen.

The beeping stopped—someone must have turned off his alarm for him. Moments later, a knock was heard at the door.

"Give me a second, would you?" Kurt answered. "I'm sort of bus—" his reply was cut off by another painful gag, and he scrambled to get his head over the toilet in time.

"Kurt, are you throwing up?" came Finn's voice, muffled through the bathroom door.

"No," Kurt replied sarcastically. "I just like to make vomiting noises for fun." The door opened then, and Kurt mentally kicked himself for not locking it on his way in. "I'm fine," he protested. "Just got that virus that Santana had, remember?"

Finn took a step back and closed the door halfway so that only his head poked through. "Well I don't want to catch it, so stay away."

"You're the one who barged in on me," Kurt reminded his stepbrother. "I never asked you to come in here and watch me puke."

"Sorry. So do you want me to tell Mom you're not going to school?"

Shoot, school. Kurt had forgotten about that. He really couldn't miss it, but then again, he really couldn't leave this bathroom either. "Yeah, I guess so," he sighed begrudgingly.

Once the door was closed again, Kurt curled himself into a ball on the cold linoleum and tried to will away the pain that plagued his midsection. He began to shiver, and wondered if he might be running a fever as well. This was quite the virus he was dealing with.

Soon, the door opened once more. Kurt glanced up from his self-pitying heap on the floor to find his father standing in the doorway, concern written on his face. "Hey, Finn said you're not feeling so hot."

"That's an understatement."

Burt smiled sympathetically. "Do you need anything before I head out?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," Kurt replied, hoping it would be true.

"Alright. Carole's gonna drop by the house over lunch to check on you, but until then, you've got the place to yourself."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. Ordinarily, he would enjoy being home alone for a while, but it didn't really matter if he'd be spending the whole time somewhere between the toilet and his bed. "Alright, Dad. See you tonight."

"Feel better, son," Burt said as he slowly shut the door.

Kurt pulled his knees closer to his chest, yanking his bath towel off the hook and wrapping it around his trembling body. He groaned, breathing with the ever-increasing pain, which had by now moved lower in his abdomen, and he could have sworn it had spread round to his back as well. What was wrong with him?

He tried to get to his feet, but at this point the pain was enough that he couldn't stand up straight. It was all he could do to grab the bathroom trash can and half-limp, half-crawl back into his bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin and curled into a ball once more.

Just as his eyes were beginning to droop shut, Kurt was hit full-on with the worst cramp yet. He was glad he'd thought to bring the trash can in when the sheer pain of it caused him to lean his head over the side of the bed and throw up, though by now it was nothing but dry heaves and a little bit of bile. He tossed and turned through the pain, breathing through gritted teeth. Much to his embarrassment, he even caught himself whimpering.

Surely this was no ordinary stomach flu.

**- to be continued -**


	3. Chapter 3

By midmorning, Kurt's temperature had risen, a headache had come on, and he continued to dry heave every twenty minutes, as if on cue. He eventually became so tired of dry heaving that he decided to wing it and eat something. He knew it wouldn't stay down, but he desperately needed something to throw up other than his stomach lining.

He dragged himself into the kitchen and opened the fridge, holding his breath against the smell of food while he took a piece of bread and slipped it into the toaster. But suddenly he was seized by a bout of wet, painful coughing, doubling him over while he tried frantically to catch his breath.

When he'd finished, he sank down onto the floor, cheeks flushed and nose running. The scent of toast filled the room, sending Kurt to the sink to dry heave once more. When he was able to stand again, he pinched his nose shut so the smell wouldn't bother him and slowly began to eat.

However, before he even finished his toast, he found himself over the sink again, tears of frustration running down his cheeks. His head ached more with every heave, and standing hunched over the sink was not helping his stomach pain.

Finally, he decided he'd had enough and crawled back into bed, where he stayed in a half-asleep state until the sound of Carole's voice brought him back to consciousness.

"Kurt, sweetie?" she murmured, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

Kurt groaned and pulled his knees up to his chin against the pain.

"Honey, tell me exactly what you're feeling," Carole pressed.

"Pain."

Carole reached out and placed a comforting hand on his burning forehead. "Oh, you're burning up. Can you be a little more specific?"

Kurt gingerly placed his hand over a point in the lower right quadrant of his abdomen.

"Kurt, I'm no doctor, but I think you and I both know what this could mean."

"It's just the stomach flu," Kurt protested feebly. The idea of appendicitis had crossed his mind when the pain migrated to that part of his abdomen, but he didn't want to consider that a real possibility.

"I don't know, Kurt, this kind of pain isn't exactly normal," Carole mused. "I'd rather not take chances—I think we ought to get you looked at." She stood and held out a hand. "Up you go."

Kurt grabbed his stepmother's hand and let her pull him to his feet. He coughed harshly and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. Still hunched against the pain, he allowed himself to be led out to the car, where Carole reclined the passenger seat as far as it could go and laid him down in it.

Carole handed Kurt a plastic bag. "Just in case you need to be sick," she said as she closed the door and climbed into the driver's seat. As she drove, she pulled out her phone and dialed. "Yes, this is Carole," she said. "No, I just wanted to let you know that I won't be able to make it back in to work today…no, I'm fine, it's my stepson…on our way to the ER…yes, thanks, okay."

"Carole," Kurt said, hating how whiny his voice sounded. "You don't have to do this."

Carole shot him a look. "Of course I do. You're sick." She stopped at a stoplight and took the opportunity to shoot a quick text to Burt and Finn, letting them know what was up. "Your father says to feel better soon," she announced after a moment.

_That's easier said than done,_ Kurt thought grimly as he heaved into the plastic bag.

At the hospital, Kurt sank down into a chair, trembling and hugging his knees while Carole signed him in. Thankfully, it didn't take long for an opening to present itself, and they brought Kurt back into a room for examination.

"So you've been vomiting," the doctor mused, "headache, cough, abdominal pain. Can you show me the specific point?"

Kurt pointed to his lower right abdomen, careful not to touch it as the slightest pressure caused the pain to skyrocket.

"And can you give me a rating, Kurt? Zero being no pain and ten being unbearable."

Kurt thought for a moment. "Eight." It was probably more like a ten, but he didn't want to freak Carole out.

"Well, there could be a number of things causing these symptoms, but appendicitis is high on the list, so we're going to do some imaging to see if that's the culprit."

After the x-ray was over, the doctor came in with some images. "Good news, Kurt. It's not your appendix." He motioned to a poorly-defined mass on the image. "You can see here that the appendix is perfectly normal."

Carole breathed a sigh of relief, but Kurt was frustrated. "If it's not that, then what is it? You can't possibly be telling me this is just a stomach bug and I'm just a wimp."

The doctor laughed. "No. You have good reason to be in pain like this. What you've got going on is called mesenteric lymphadenitis. It's commonly mistaken for appendicitis because it mimics the same sort of pain, but thankfully it's less serious and won't require surgery."

"Mesenteric lymphadenitis," Kurt repeated.

"Yes. It's an inflammation of the lymph nodes in your mesentery. What likely happened was that you caught something—my guess would be gastroenteritis, more commonly known as the stomach flu—and because of that, the lymph nodes became swollen and painful from fighting the infection."

"So what does this mean for him?" Carole spoke up.

"It means we give him fluids—he's painfully dehydrated—and perhaps a little something for the pain, and then we send him home to sleep it off. That's really the only treatment for this, as it generally tends to clear on its own. However, a round of antibiotics could speed things up a bit."

Kurt groaned. It was looking like he would still have to deal with this pain for a while yet. He leaned back into his pillows while a young nurse hooked him up with intravenous fluids, and when the bag was empty, he and Carole headed home.


	4. Chapter 4

Finn was home when Kurt and Carole arrived, sitting on the couch with a bag of chips. Kurt shuffled into the living room, still slightly hunched, and fell into a heap beside his stepbrother.

"So you're home quick. Not appendectomy, then?" Finn remarked.

"Nope. I just get to deal with this until it goes away on its own," Kurt complained in reply.

"Everyone at Glee Club was asking about you. They're convinced you're dying, so you might want to get in touch."

Kurt sighed. "At this point, I still think dying is a possibility." Nevertheless, he pulled out his phone and fired off a quick text to Mercedes. _Not appendicitis,_ he wrote. _Just stomach flu and some weird complication. Long story short, I'm not gonna die._

Carole came into the room then with a couple of crackers on a little plate. "Think you want to try and get something in your stomach, Kurt?"

No, Kurt absolutely did _not_ want to try and get something in his stomach. But he took the crackers from his stepmother and took a few tentative nibbles. When his stomach stayed calm, he finished off the first cracker and tackled another as well. "Not bad," he remarked.

However, within moments of finishing the crackers, Kurt found himself hunched over the kitchen sink yet again. Carole came rushing in and placed a comforting hand on the small of his back while he heaved the crackers back up again.

Kurt straightened up and wiped his nose. "I feel gross."

Carole smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure you do. Let's get you back to bed." She put an arm around Kurt's trembling body and helped him back to the bedroom and into bed. When he was situated, she disappeared for a few moments, coming back shortly with a hot compress. "Maybe this will help with the pain and swelling," she suggested. "Hold it against your stomach where it hurts."

Kurt did as he was told, wincing as the weight of the heating pad on his stomach sent pain shooting through his body, but within a few moments the warmth began to work its magic. "That feels so good. Thanks, Carole."

Carole nodded. "I thought it might." She placed the back of her hand against Kurt's forehead. "You still feel pretty warm, so don't leave it on for too long."

"I'm so cold though," Kurt protested, shivering as if to punctuate the statement.

"I'm sorry you're this miserable," Carole murmured, running her hand through her stepson's tousled, sweat-spiky hair. "Do me a favour and try to sleep. That's really what you need. I'm going to go pick up your prescriptions and will be back shortly."

Kurt nodded in response and soon drifted into a fitful sleep, only waking when Carole appeared in the room again some time later with a couple of pills and a glass of apple juice. "Let's see if we can get some medicine into you, Kurt. One is your antibiotic and the other is for the pain."

Kurt shut his eyes against the nausea that had crept back into his stomach while he'd slept. "I really don't know if I can do that."

"Well try for me, okay?" Carole helped Kurt sit up and handed him the pills, watching carefully as he took one after the other, washing them down with the juice.

Kurt really didn't like how the juice settled in his stomach, and he decided to get to the bathroom just in case. "Don't throw them back up," Carole scolded. "They're what's going to make you better."

Kurt clamped his mouth shut and sat down on the closed toilet lid. He was going to try his hardest to keep them down, but he wasn't making any promises. "You don't have to stay with me," he told Carole, partly because he felt bad for wasting so much of her time that day, but mostly because he just wanted to be left alone.

"Alright, honey, but call me if you need anything at all." At that, she left, gently closing the door behind her.

Kurt moved onto the floor then, curling into a ball with his cheek pressed against the scratchy bathmat. He gagged, pursing his lips to keep from throwing up, but it didn't work—he scrambled to get the toilet lid open in time to get rid of the juice he'd just had. But maybe, if he was lucky, the few short moments in between taking the medicine and throwing it back up would be enough for it to take some effect.

He looked at his watch—if this was just a 24-hour bug, that would mean he still had a good six or eight hours left of this hell. The mere thought was enough to send him retching again.

It wasn't long, though, before the door creaked open again. This time it was Finn, a deck of cards in one hand and the heating pad in the other. "Mom sent me to see if you wanted the hot compress again," he announced. "And I thought maybe you'd want something to keep your mind off of things."

Kurt smiled. "Thanks, Finn. That's exactly what I need." He gingerly placed the compress against his abdomen and focused his attention on shuffling the cards. "War?"

Finn raised an eyebrow. "War? Really?"

"Hey, look," Kurt defended himself. "I'm in pain here. I don't think I have it in me for anything more complicated than that."

"If you say so," Finn said with a shrug.

The two played round after round, as the last of the sunlight faded and bedtime drew ever closer. Kurt had to pause to be sick again several times before they were through, but Finn had been right—it was nice to have something to distract him from the pain.

Soon Kurt's vision began to blur and he had to fight to stay awake. He vaguely remembered Finn gathering up the playing cards off of the bathroom floor, covering him with a blanket, and turning off the light, but then Kurt was fast asleep.

When he awoke early the next morning, he was confused to find himself on the bathroom floor, the pattern of the bathmat imprinted in his fever-flushed cheek. He sat up groggily, feeling the familiar ache in his stomach, but overjoyed to find a lack of nausea. Maybe this meant the worst was over.

That day brought its fair share of pain, and the fever lingered annoyingly, but Kurt was able to keep his medicine down and even a few crackers. He spent the weekend resting up, took his antibiotics faithfully, and it was only a week or so before he was all back to normal again.

Although some small part of him wished it had been appendicitis—then he'd at least have a scar to show for all that he'd gone through. But mostly he was just thankful he could function as a normal human being again.

That was some stomach flu.

**- the end -**


End file.
